


to bury a friend.

by discountghost



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Author doesn't know what the fuck happened, Buried Alive, Cursed San, Explicit Sexual Content, Historical Fantasy, Implied/Referenced Character Death, King Seonghwa, M/M, Park Seonghwa is Whipped, Public Sex, Resurrection, Seonghwa is horny, Widower San, Witch Curses, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:54:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28334985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/discountghost/pseuds/discountghost
Summary: "Well! I've been." He stopped, blinked as he thought. Then, in a flurry of movement, he continued. "I've been handling myself. Keeping busy helps.""How so?" San pushed him down into the chairs and one of his attendants stepped forward to speak up on the 'rough' treatment before Seonghwa held up a hand to silence him.San never stopped moving. "I took up some hobbies. Gardening has been nice.""It's awful weather for gardening."
Relationships: Choi San/Park Seonghwa
Comments: 10
Kudos: 44





	to bury a friend.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gaymumbling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaymumbling/gifts).



> I had. A Lot of fun plotting this out and then somehow my brain was like "ahaha so here's what's happening" and I kinda like this better. I hope you enjoy this, Beck <3

His brother died in the spring.

No; that was not right. He'd died before the first rains had come. Winter's chill still had a hold on the world, the ground still hard and unrelenting. It had taken them hours to dig the grave. Longer than usual. He could still hear the echo of the shovels hitting the frozen earth. The first rains had long since past, but he found himself drenched. Seonghwa supposed he should go inside. He glanced down at the bouquet in his hands, vibrant against the dull tones of the dreary, rained on world. Lilies and carnations and orchids clustered together and tied with delicate black ribbons. A single red blossom of carnations had been placed in the center. His chest tightened.

The ground beneath his feet squelched. The sound reached his ears as the attendants at his side protested his going on foot. He didn't see the use of a carriage going all the way up the drive. Especially not when the drive looked like  _ this. _ His brother hadn't been one for the fineries of wealthy and luxury of royalty, but he was accustomed to a certain standard. The house (more a small manor) had a long drive, unpaved. The path was littered with weeds and mud and he wondered if this was a product of the self-imposed solitude. His stomach churned. He continued on.

The paper around the flowers crinkled where it had not been wet, shielded by his body. At the very least, he couldn't allow them to get wet. His steps were a hollow sound that filled his ears as he got up to the door. The house itself was an imposing figure. It harkened to how it had been when his brother was healthy and well. When they had been children. Foolish princes that ran amok. Only one fool remained, and he was promptly chained to state affairs. It had been what had delayed this visit, among other things.

He cleared his throat as he smoothed down his cloak, checked the flowers to be sure none of them had become misshapen in any way. The door opened before he could even knock.

"Your Majesty." The words were colored not by surprise, but a simpering affection that made his skin hot and his mouth dry.

He licked his lips, ducked his head sheepishly. "San. I-I'm sorry to have taken so long to come and visit."

"Nonsense!" The other stepped back and opened the door wider to allow him in. "A visit at any time is always welcomed."

Behind him, a hallway stretched out in light. Walls like the pink insides of a rose -- like San's lips -- surrounded him as he stepped in. He glanced back at his attendants. They remained under their umbrellas, peering up at the two figures. He should let them in. He should have them wait in the parlor with him as they talked, but it would make the visit seem less personal.

But it would avoid scandal on Seonghwa visiting his brother's widower.

He nodded toward them, and they followed suit. Two dark figures that darkened the doorway of the home of his late brother and his spouse. The same spouse that stood in canary yellow slacks, a beige shirt tucked neatly into them and accentuating his narrow waist. A robe made of silk of the same canary yellow draped down his shoulders. Even as the attendants stepped inside, San stepped forward to wrap Seonghwa up in a hug and it was much like a convergence of light meeting the dark. That is: Seonghwa was still in his mourning colors.

He'd never known San to be one to dwell long on negative emotions, but despite that. He'd...he'd expected  _ something. _ The other looked as though he'd never been touched by grief.

There was color to his cheeks as he drew away, let his hands slide from Seonghwa's shoulders, to his elbows, to his wrists before they finally landed on his hands. Their fingers clung to each other lazily, somehow still reluctant to let go. Seonghwa cleared his throat.

"Have you been. Have you been well?"

The parlor San had begun to pull him toward was still filled with remnants of his brother. Thick books scattered around in piles, some with objects placed over them precariously. Blankets draped over chairs. He supposed change would have been too much. A fire was going in the hearth that sat toward the wall, warming the room. He was directed to stand before it, San peeling off layers from his arms.

"Well! I've been." He stopped, blinked as he thought. Then, in a flurry of movement, he continued. "I've been handling myself. Keeping busy helps."

"How so?" San pushed him down into the chairs and one of his attendants stepped forward to speak up on the 'rough' treatment before Seonghwa held up a hand to silence him.

San never stopped moving. "I took up some hobbies. Gardening has been nice."

"It's awful weather for gardening."

"I suppose so." A short giggle followed and his insides warmed up faster than the fire could make him. "I wanted to try my hand at something like hunting, but." He left it at that.

"Why not?"

"It's a rather bloody affair, isn't it?" Right. It was, in the early stages. "I'd rather not have to put those poor maids through the hassle of cleaning up after me when I make a mistake."

"I could show you how."

"Would you be so kind?" A dimple popped at the side of San's mouth. Seonghwa gripped the arm of his chair a little harder than he needed to. "You honor me, Your Majesty, but I'd not trouble you with such things."

"Seonghwa." San turned. "Just Seonghwa is fine."

The other glanced toward the attendants. "I hardly think that would be appropriate--"

"You're my brother's husband."  _ Were. _ "Before that, you were a friend. And now you're family. Please. It would --  _ I _ would like it if you would see yourself that way."

On a level, this was true. Seonghwa had always felt particularly close to San, even before his brother had married him. Before they had thought about slipping rings on the fingers of pretty figures with blushing cheeks. He cleared his throat, gestured for the other to sit.

"I came to offer my condolences, and for that, I apologize in my lateness."

"You were busy, I'm sure." San's tone was light, dismissive. He wouldn't want to sour the mood.

Seonghwa twined his fingers together to keep from pulling at a stray thread on the arm of the chair. "Yes, I. There was so much." He shut his eyes. His chest tightened and not so much with the anticipation of seeing San. "There was much to deal with after Gyu's death."

Park Beomgyu had been first in line. He was supposed to have been the one to ascend the throne, but in his later years, when he was no longer a teenager and too arrogant for himself, he stepped down. He handed the power over to Seonghwa. It must have shocked so many people to watch on his coronation day as he let the crown rest on Seonghwa's head instead.

It must have shocked them more when he took San first as his lover, then his groom.

He glanced over at the man who sat beside him. The fire, even in a room fully lit and bright as a clear spring day, cast shadows on his face. The long planes of his face made longer. He seemed almost haunted. Maybe there was something still holding onto Gyu. Seonghwa looked away.

"I'm sure."

They'd been married for no more than five years, and even then -- he'd left Seonghwa with so much work. So much to learn. So much so, that he ended up holed away in the palace. Advisors and attendants had filled the prince with the knowledge he needed, and then some, at the cost of interaction with friends and brother alike. Once he'd been freed of the confines of learning the basics, they'd moved on the trajectory of their kingdom's potential. The potential for war, money, growth. Topics he'd thrown himself into wholeheartedly. He'd not seen Gyu in his last days, but what he had seen had struck a chord of dread in him. Maybe it was just his grief at having lost his chance to have the one person he'd wanted most.

His knuckles ached. He glanced down to see that he'd been curling his hands into fists. Unbecoming of a king, one should say. He exhaled through his mouth, blinked as he looked up to the crackling fire. The flames danced and swayed before him, as taking the part of court jester.

San was up once more, a flurry of movement again. The silk robe slipped down his arms and his finger twitched at the thought of pulling it back up. He shoved books aside and placed mugs and cups that had probably not been touched since his brother's passing two months ago. San was still supposed to be in mourning, still supposed to be draped in the heavy darkness of black garb.

Something was shoved in his face and suddenly San's expression was serious, stare leveled and grim. He decided he wasn't a fan of that expression on the other. He took the proffered book, turned his attention wholly onto it. The cover was made of leather, cracked and old. He knew it at once. He knew the crest etched into the front of it, and the weathered paper within.

Gyu didn't often share his thoughts with the living. Not unless you lucky. But he found great comfort in pouring his worries, troubles, and desires on the page in written form. Sometimes in poetry, sometimes in nonsense. Sometimes, when he was feeling particularly attached, they'd make sense. But the book before him he knew at once to be his brother's latest journal. There must have been hundreds left in the palace, tucked away in his room and library. Seonghwa swallowed, glanced up at San.

"I've been...keeping it. I thought about getting rid of all of the damned journals." The attendants looked to him sharply and San flushed, grinned sheepishly. "But I couldn't." He shrugged, wrung his hands.

He made to open it, right then and there as a weight settled on his shoulders. Hands, slender and ringed, stopped him. San knelt before him, eyes wide and gaze pleading.

"Not here." He glanced to the attendants.

Seonghwa tried to think of something more decent than what swirled around in his head. Had San used this same expression on his brother? "I should wait, shouldn't I?"

"There are matters worth attending to in private. And this." He tapped on the leather cover, gaze dropping down to it. "Is one of them."

He didn't expect much from the journal, all things considered. It was more likely that his brother had scribbled in nonsense. Gyu had a penchant for being cryptic; their mother had once gotten concerned with his habits of writing down his every thought and sought to decipher the meaning of her child through them. It'd caused a fuss. His mother had been frantic, wanting to know what each and every word meant. She must have driven herself mad. Gyu only seemed to blame himself and his ramblings got worse, and they simply spiraled. It only seemed to hit harder when Gyu fell ill a year into his marriage with San.

Seonghwa glanced down at the journal, equal parts wary and reverent. It wasn't that his was secretive, his brother. Just private. It felt wrong, almost, to go through his most private possession without his explicit permission. But it wasn't like he could ask. Not anymore.

He slid a hand over the cover, unwound the string that bound it together. It'd been sitting on his desk for three days. Three days for him to stew and decide what it was that he wanted to discern from the thing. He held his breath as he flipped open the pages at last.

His brother's handwriting was impeccable. His brother had been much the same. His artistry, on the pages that were graced with sketches and doodles, was much like him. He sucked in a breath as his fingers traced the lines of a drawing, a faceless being that lay strewn about something in a pitiful surrender to the picture of death. He blinked. Then flipped the page.

He hadn't hoped to learn anything, not truly. He'd wanted that last bit of closeness with his brother that he had been deprived of. Gyu had shut everyone out in those last months. Everyone but San, of course. They'd moved out of the palace to that house with the flourishing garden and the imposing figure. He licked his lips as he traced words and linked them to sentences as his brother must have.

"September Twenty-first." He let the words slip out of his lips as he read. If he could give them life in this way, maybe that would make him feel like his brother was still there. " _ San has been tired. Weak, most days. You would think he was the sick one. I think he likes being pampered, as the maids have taken to. I miss when he danced. He says dancing isn't as much fun if I can't join him. I'm afraid my legs would give out if I tried to keep up with him. _ "

The lines that followed had been blotted out. He flipped the page. They were blank. He flipped a few more until there was more writing at last. Different, however. If ever one could find urgency in the way someone wrote, it would be in the moment.

No date just:  _ I worry about San. _

He would have been very sick at this point. Maybe? Seonghwa could only assume. He glanced up and out the window.

_ He's still so weak. He sleeps more than I, and eats much less. Is he mourning me already? _

A shudder hit him. It was the cold. He moved away from the window of the royal study and returned to the words.

_ I found him in the garden, with his hands in a fresh pot of soil. He looked so at peace there. So pretty. Like a flower. _

The next words are hard to read. Not because his brother's handwriting had suddenly turned into chickenscratch, but because a large sketch of his troubles interrupted the flow of them. Harsh lines, pressed in the page so deep it left indents he could feel in the ones beyond it. They illustrated the widower with his head tossed back and his eyes shut. His neck bared and shoulders peeking out of billowing robes. Maybe even the same robe that he'd greeted Seonghwa in. A flower was glued down onto the page.

Seonghwa swallowed as he turned to the next page. This one, dated.

_ December Twelfth. San has some life back in him. I hear him humming in the mornings. Mornings; he actually wakes before noon now. I wonder what came over him. But with him growing stronger, I grow weaker. He might have done something to me. Maybe it was when he was in the garden. He's in there so often now. But I'm so much weaker. I feel it. My body threatens to crumble more each day. I am but a candle burning low. So low. San doesn't seem to notice. Or he does and he doesn't care. Or he does and doesn't want to think about it. I don't fault him for that. _

_ I can no longer make love to him as I had before, and I think that upsets him most. _

Seonghwa promptly shut the journal. He didn't need to know about the private matters between his brother and his widower. Warmth flooded his cheeks as his mind turned traitor. San, stretched out over their marriage bed. They'd dashed the tradition of a witness when the two had been married, and Seonghwa had been glad for that. The duty would have fallen to him. And he didn't much think he would survive being audience to that level of intimacy.

He sat the journal down carefully, pressed the back of one hand to his cheek as he drew in a breath. His brother had mentioned something about San doing something to him. Doing something to make him weaker. He throttled his thoughts into submission long enough to get them to focus on other words that had been mentioned. San had been sick, perhaps sicker than Gyu himself. And then he got better.

Someone of a more superstitious ilk would have thought it the work of a witch or enchanter. San  _ was _ enchanting in his own way, but Seonghwa didn't think he was in  _ that _ way. They'd been friends for so long, and then his brother and San lovers for a touch longer; the opportunity was there. It could have happened before. But why wait until his brother had already abdicated the throne to do such a thing? What would be gained?

Did San know about this? It was a thought that struck him so suddenly, he had to sit down. He lowered himself into a chair as he thought about the man having read those words about himself. Had it filled him with a sense of betrayal? It would damn him if someone else saw it. So why would San give him the journal if he had seen? Which meant -- he couldn't have read it. He must have just given it to Seonghwa as a matter of them being family. Of the two brothers having been apart for so long, and now eternally.

He thought back to San, on his knees before him as he told him to wait. Then, he thought about San  _ on his knees _ and he was being to grow frustrated with himself. He'd been king for over five years and he was still acting like a teenager. One deeply in love (and lust), provoked at the slightest thought of the object of his affection. He whined low in his throat as he tried to dispel further thoughts from cropping up at the remembrance of his brother focusing on the more intimate parts of their marriage.

A part of him wished he'd never read it.

But another, selfish part of him wanted to keep reading. Wanted to know what it would be like if  _ he _ had been the one to marry San. He glanced at the journal. Then, hung his head in shame as he resigned himself to thoughts that would most definitely interfere with his focus for the rest of the day.

It was not the first time that he had popped the buttons of his p ants to slip his hands inside while sitting in front of his desk. It was not the first time he had shut his eyes to imagine San, in all his splendor, bending to kiss his other head. He stroked himself to the tune of memories and imaginings of what he thought San would look like in the closed quarters of his bed chambers. He smothered every moan and whine as he pumped himself to completion, and then regretted it immensely.

Seonghwa had always been prone to doing what he shouldn't. Maybe it was that his parents had been more lenient with him. They'd simply chuckled and patted his wrist when cooks caught him lifting cookies from a tray. They'd shaken their heads and sighed when they caught him drowning the achings of a broken heart between the thighs of both serving maids and butlers alike. They'd let things go because he could do worse and he wasn't the one ascending to the throne.

If only they'd known.

He cleaned himself up as best he can, just in time as a knock on his door sounded. He didn't think he was expecting visitors, but a thrill went through him at the prospect of him being caught cleaning up the mess he'd made of himself.

"One moment, please."

He put the journal in a drawer of his desk and let his surprise visitor in.

Seonghwa, as much as he tried, couldn't stop thinking about it. It, of course, being the journal stashed away in his desk. He'd put off reading it further, for fear of old habits returning with a vengeance. The short moment of breaking in his office after first reading it had been enough to spook him away from the task. He told himself that it wasn't right, and he certainly  _ shouldn't _ be lusting over his brother's widower, but alas.

He'd been lusting over San since he was a married man.

He swallowed as he pulled the drawer open slowly. The journal stared up at him, as if challenging him to pick it up again. To read more of its contents and imagine things he had no business imagining. He found it easy to take up the challenge up to the point of actually opening the page. He didn't know which he left off on, so he flipped through after a few moments of great reluctance. He was rewarded with sketches that were less than family friendly.

Heat rose to his face, to the tips of his ears. Just as he imagined, his brother had put down to the page. San with his lips parted, on his knees. San, legs crossed as he lay stretched out and sated like a cat in the afterglow. His brother had made pains to include the details of each freckle that dotted San's skin. Each one that he must have kissed a dozen times over.

He'd been so engrossed in it that he'd missed the door opening. Not until someone cleared their throat and he practically threw the journal into the drawer and slammed it shut. San's brows rose as he took in the sight of the other.

"I apologize if I interrupted something, Your Majesty."

"Seonghwa." He stood, smoothed back black hairs from his face. "I've told you to call me Seonghwa."

San smiled graciously, rubbed at his nose. " _ Seonghwa, _ I know I haven't been summoned and it's...unusual for the grieving spouses to leave their homes, but. I was. I was curious."

"About what?" His hip bumped into the edge of his desk as he stepped forward. He hid his wince as best he could.

"About, well. If. If you'd read it." San shrugged. "I suppose you have. Or, well, you were in the process of doing so before I intruded."

San wore riding boots, brown pants with a peacoat that buttoned up to his neck. The sides of his boots were coated in a small layer of dirt and he wondered if the other had ridden all the way up here. It would likely have seemed like nothing; San had always been an avid rider. His mind went to thoughts of other things he could ride and Seonghwa felt shame color his cheeks as he nodded, ducked his head.

"My brother. He had...notions." Seonghwa gestured for him to sit, hoped it would cover up the notions  _ he _ thought of. "Some of them...not pleasant."

"You think I killed him?" San jumped to it fast. His voice was cold, hollow. Like this was not a new accusation, but something that hurt worse than any that might have come before.

"What? No!" There was the desk again. "No -- God above, No!" His shoulders slumped. "For a second, I did, but--"

"I did."

Silence lingered between them and for a moment, Seonghwa hoped he'd heard wrong. He let out a chuckle, alarmed when the other didn't join in.

"I did." He said it again, no longer sitting. Hands wrung the riding gloves he'd slipped off. San stared him head on. "He died because of me."

"San, just because you were sick and got better doesn't mean that you killed him." He crossed over to where the other stood, placed his arms gently on the man's shoulders. "It's just. It was how it went."

"You don't understand." San pushed away, stared down at the ground. "They'll string me up. Put me on a stake and burn me." His voice rose as he went, eyes widening. "If I explain this to anyone, they'll think me a witch. They'll try me as one, Seonghwa."

"If...you knew why would you give me the journal?"

"Because I need  _ your _ help. Between you and your brother, you were the only ones that could help me." He glanced down at Seonghwa's desk, pushed past him to it. "Did you finish? Did you get to the end?"

Seonghwa's cheeks colored once again and shifted from one foot to the other. He shouldn't be thinking about such things now, but. "I only managed to get to the drawings. Not to the end." His brows furrowed. "What does this have to do with helping you if you've killed my brother?"

They'd have San executed without impunity. His parents, though they'd stepped down as regents, would still have a considerable amount of power and influence. They could very much have San hung within the hour. Or worse; they'd think to take his pretty head from his body. Seonghwa winced at the thought. The other didn't notice.

"Because." He bit his lip. "It's the same reason people would take me for a witch."

"Are you saying that you are one?"

"No! I'm not. I was  _ cursed, _ as a child. Before I met you." Their gazes locked and there was something there. At least, Seonghwa thought there was. Then, San was looking away and trying to find his seat again. He settled himself into it, sitting at the edge as he held himself. "I don't know why they did it, but they cursed me. I hurt... _ everyone.  _ Usually those I care for most."

That. That hurt. He thought about it too much and left himself hurt in the span of a second. San cared about his brother and now his brother was dead. Which meant that he'd  _ loved _ Gyu. The fantasy that the other had always just gone with the proposal because Gyu was a royal was suddenly crushed to oblivion. Seonghwa felt the laugh leave him before he really registered it. His desk caught him before his legs could give out.

"So, what you're saying is -- please, correct me if I'm wrong in any way. What you're saying...is: your curse killed my brother. And you were very young when you were cursed, so you have no idea  _ why _ you were cursed."

San nodded, hung his head. "I thought that. I thought that if I married, it would go away. I thought that if I surrounded myself with people." He gasped, as if the realization of what he was saying had hit him, too. "I thought that if I had more than one source to draw from, I wouldn't be able to kill anybody." His pretty pink lips hung open and his eyes widened as he the words hung in the air. He struggled for a moment to continue. Tears sprung up in the corner of his eyes, not yet shed even when he blinked. "I married your brother because I thought I would be surrounded by a slew of servants who would be near enough that I could just take little bits from them and everyone would be fine."

"You married him for comfort?" Maybe his fantasy was still intact. He internally kicked himself for the thought.

"I married for security." San's jaw clenched as he stood, crossed to the window that Seonghwa had stood at earlier. The light that streamed in framed his figure so nicely, Seonghwa almost forgot what they were talking about. Very, very nearly did. He shoved his clenched fists into his pockets, the blunt edges of his nails biting into his skin.

He breathed out, stepped forward. "You married because you were scared."

"Yes." He could hear the tremor in the other's voice, even if San didn't turn around. "And I need your help. Before I kill someone again because I didn't do something right."

Seonghwa fingered the knob of the drawer with the journal in it. "My brother said something about the garden. Is that how you've been faring so far?"

"Yes...and no. It only lasts for so long. When I got sick...it was because I didn't. I didn't  _ take _ from a person, I took from the plants for too long. And when I did take from someone." He stopped, froze in place as though he were another of the marble statues that lined the throne room and were scattered about the halls.

"They died." His brother.

"I should take my leave." San turned, then. Eyes still wet and nose pink. Long lashes were the only barrier to hold back a slew of tears as he shut them, bowed.

"San, wait."

"I really must be going."

"We can talk about this--"

"No, you must think on it." He pressed his lips together, hand on the doorknob. "You must think on this because we can't do this half-heartedly. Gyu was...he was in the dark when this started, and it was too late for him then. I don't want you to end up the same way."

"San--"

He'd never heard the door shut so loudly before.

It had been for the best, really, for Seonghwa to be left to think. He wouldn't have done so clearly with San there in the room with him. He marveled over the hold the other had over his mind. For a short period, of course. Otherwise, his attention was taken by the observations his brother had made in his journal.

_ San's favorite maid is missing. _ His brother went on to detail on how she was always the one to bring him tea. Always the one to rouse him in the morning. She'd been tough as an ox, so his brother had claimed, but sweet as a chick. And she'd been missing since the day before. When she'd stepped in the garden to give San a midday meal.

The speculations his brother threw around most of the time ranged from ridiculous to slightly disturbing. He thought the maid might have been buried in the plant bed somewhere. Gyu'd order someone to dig around in them and San had been livid. Hadn't spoken to him, but Seonghwa wasn't sure if that anger was actually directed at Gyu or at himself for what he must have caused. They'd found nothing.

Gyu's suspicions only ever got worse, and he was no stranger to the details of even paranoia surrounding their moments of utmost intimacy. Wonders of whether each time San rocked his hips, did he take parts of his life? Even a kiss would be seen as something treacherous to the ailing Gyu.

Seonghwa wondered if perhaps Gyu hadn't wanted to save San, but to kill him. Much like San had slowly been doing to him. A battle of endurance, on the part of his brother's. He didn't doubt that San was likely the subject of an investigation with the intent to end  _ something _ concerning him, but as he read on the lines blurred and he found less desire to see things from his brother's perspective.

_ The flowers are blooming. _ The phrase popped up on more than one occasion and he had no idea what it meant. He wracked his brain for some sort of inference on what his brother had been getting at. Gyu was still a mystery, in some ways, in his death. And Seonghwa had merely inherited the phantom of it.

It was what lead him to the steps of the widower's house, taking them two at a time. His attendants lagged behind him. Two unshakeable presences he loathed more than anything at the moment as he lifted the heavy ornate knocker and let it slam down. His hair was askew and he was sure his clothes were a mess. He'd slept in them. A servant opened the door this time, rather than San.

"Where is he?"

"Your Majesty--"

He held up a hand to stop them. The young woman looked downright terrified, but he supposed that was his fault. "Where is he?"

"In the gardens, Your Highness. I've been told not to disturb him--"

"Take me to him."

The battle on whether to obey her master's wishes or disobey the sovereign of her land was a short one, and had a winner predictable from miles on. She opened the door wider, bowed to his attendants, and scurried ahead. She glanced back to see if he was following. His legs carried him in long strides and she startled as he gained on her. He might as well have given chase for the way that she nearly ran. They wound their way through the halls to a door that lead out the back and into the true splendor of the home his brother had secluded himself to.

The back gardens were a rival to the royal gardens. Seonghwa had only been there once or twice himself, but it had flourished in the time that he had been away. Flowers of all colors bloomed and turned their heads to the skies as they sought the sun. Trees rose in great groves, spreading shade where they stood. Among it all, though, was a greenhouse lead up to by a winding path of stones. It was more polished and cared for than the drive that was meant to receive guests.

Seonghwa barreled on, propelled by a horrified fascination at the consequences of his excuses to reunite with San and the dreadful churn of his stomach to know that his brother had sought to kill his husband. Even if it was a perceived notion of self-defense, kill or be killed. He didn't like that they'd been reduced to such terms. He didn't like that San might have known that was what Gyu had thought.

The metal door creaked as Seonghwa opened it. Inside were potted sprouts lining the shelves, circled around a cluster of chairs and a table. San sat just beyond them in soil spilled out onto the floor, looked up as Seonghwa entered. His mouth opened to speak, but nothing came out as he quickly wrapped up his robe.  _ Oh. _ Seonghwa stepped back, turned away to the shelves of plants.

"I'm afraid I'm not in much a state for visitors."

"I see." He shut his eyes, because he had seen and it was now seared into his memory. A beat passed and his fingers twitched, and the silence as San righted himself was too much. "Do you often lay naked in the dirt?"

"I feel closer to the plants, and I can take from them better." He sounded breathless.

Take was probably an apt word for what he did. "I see." He winced.

"You can turn around now."

He did as was allowed, hands in his pockets as he composed himself. There was still heat in cheeks and the tips of his ears, but San wasn’t much better off. The robe didn’t hide much if anything. He cleared his throat, shifted his weight from one foot to the next.

“What brings you here, Seonghwa?”

“Right. Yes. I— I had. Have. Questions for you.”

San gestured to one of the chairs. “Ask away.”

“Right.” He sat quickly. “The curse — do you truly not remember who laid it upon you?”

“No.” The other shook his head as he pulled out a chair, brought it closer to Seonghwa. The royal made a point to look anywhere but at the exposed skin of his legs. They were nice legs, and he would leave it at that. “Just that I was very young, and had been in the village where I was born.”

“Have you tried breaking it before?”

Another shake of his head. “I had been told, by my parents, that it was a rather fruitless endeavor, and they sent me off to work in the palace.”

“Ah.” That was how San had ended up under the employ of the cook. He’d always thought he’d worked for the gardener, but previous investigating showed otherwise. “Were they affected by the curse as you were?”

“My sister was, I think. But she never showed signs of it. Or, rather, it worked in reverse on her. She had to give or.” San grimaced. “It wasn’t a pretty thing to see. And when I see her, I fear she’s worse every time.”

“That can’t be easy.”

“It isn’t.” The admission is soft, quiet. 

Seonghwa wondered who would ever curse a child in such a way. “Is it possible that the witch was also a member of your community?”

“Is it. I’m not sure that she would have stayed within the bounds of the village, though.” He shrugged. “The people are superstitious and less...open to certain things.”

“Maybe it was for the best that you left.” Maybe he should shut his mouth. Seonghwa wanted to kick the words back in the second they left him. There was no further implication in San’s words.

The other smiled, though, as if there  _ were. _ His heart sang. “Maybe it was.”

Conversation lulled to a halt. San watched him expectantly, brows raised and a cordial smile on his lips. No; San had to be humoring him. There could be nothing more to the comments he made than simply going with the aborted flow of Seonghwa shamelessly reaching for something he couldn’t have. He blinked.

“Maybe. If we go back to the village, we can find the witch. Or some trace of them that would make it possible to reverse your curse.”

San considered it a moment. He pulled pink lips between his teeth and worried at the flesh while he thought and Seonghwa fought every urge in himself to coo. “I think...that would be a good idea.”

“Then we can leave immediately.”

“Now?’

“Now.”

A beat. Then, “Surely, you’d allow me to make myself more presentable?”

“Yes. Right. Please do. Do that.” He might have wheezed there. 

It didn’t help his case that San chose then to giggle. The sound graced his ears and he felt his shoulder slump. He hadn’t realized how tense he was until the other was flitting out of the greenhouse. His silken robe slipped off his shoulder and Hwa was reminded of the sketch he’d seen in his brother’s journal. He waited for the other to be out the door before he groaned, hands holding his head. He was making a fool of himself, and this proposed trip would surely only make things worse.

He was right.

Seonghwa found that he greatly disliked being right, particularly in this moment. He’d not thought of the long-term travel, and thus his departure from the capital to venture into the more rural areas was marked with great worry. The roads were not bad, but it was the carriage itself. He’d opted for something less spacious because he’d thought he’d return to the palace, but now he sat face to face with San, their knees knocking together with each bump in the road.

The other looked slightly green in the face, leaned back as he shut his eyes and took a deep breath.

“Not much a fan for carriages?”

“Not in the slightest.” San scrunched up his nose, but didn’t open his eyes. “Too stuffy.”

“I can see about the windows being opened.”

San shook his head. “Then I would smell all the shit and unwashed bodies.” There was a smirk on his face despite his pallor. Somehow, he’d still found it in him to joke. Perhaps that was a good sign. 

The road had been mostly empty. He wondered if someone hadn’t put out some sort of announcement beforehand that the king would be traveling down that particular road. It would have certainly made his life a lot easier. But he thought instead about how it might be just one less traveled. The bumps and rocking told him as much.

San was jostled closer each moment, and he watched the other struggle not fall forward into his lap as the hours passed. San has informed him that it could have easily been a two-day journey, maybe longer due to when they had left. It had been close to the evening and traveling at night was never a good idea. Especially when you were royal. It was what resulted in them pulling the carriage under a grove of trees, with the driver and Seonghwa’s attendants taking shifts to keep watch. The small bag that San had packed had been filled with clothes for the two of them, Seonghwa borrowing reluctantly from his older brother’s wardrobe. He’d been surprised to know that San had still kept his clothes, but supposed if he’d kept the books, then clothes would have stayed too. He went through great pains to make sure he was clear of San before he changed, and had opted to sleep outside with the driver. He shot down protests with a simple “It wouldn’t be proper.” Part of him sneered at himself for the very words leaving his lips. He watched San slink back into the carriage and sighed before taking his spot outside.

They saw two days of this before they arrived in the village. People gawked at the carriage as it strolled past, and San attempted to recount the location of his parent’s home. He had been so young when he left. It hurt to think that the other would have just been sent away from his family on account of something he couldn’t control. It hurt worse, though, when he took in the staring.

Seonghwa was used to being stared at. Used to being under the careful scrutiny of a seemingly adoring public that would vilify him in seconds if they saw the need for it. The simplest of tasks would be turned into a grand spectacle. It was a wonder him using the restroom wasn’t something that sounded horns for. But this was not the same sort of treatment that San received. It was an open animosity that made his blood run cold. Fear and hatred landed on him as recognition sparked within the people. He wasn’t sure why that was; San had not returned to his village for some time after the marriage to Gyu. Maybe it was that he hadn’t changed much in his time away. He’d known the man to visit his family when he could before the marriage.

His family rushed out to greet him, but it was not with warmth. Fear played on their faces like children running through mud. Tracked itself over their features as it pulled brows together and made eyes widen. When the collective gaze slid over to Seonghwa, the fear intensified and soon there were people throwing themselves at his feet in supplication. Taken aback, he could do no more than watch until San stooped down and got them back to their feet.

He’d never had the pleasure of meeting San’s family and now he knew why. His parents were healthy, but tired-looking in a way that wore them down past their years.He supposed that was what hard labor did to a person. His mother removed the handkerchief from her hair and his father the hat from his head as they bowed one more in greeting, refraining from falling to their knees this time. He glanced at San.

He hid his annoyance well, but not well enough.

“Mother. Father.” Two short words that sounded shorter with how clipped his tone was.

“San, what are you doing here?”

Seonghwa stepped forward, the same smile on his face he used when he dealt court officials he didn’t care much for. “I asked him to bring me here.”

“Oh, but Your Majesty, what would be the point—”

“There’s something that has been troubling me and San assured me that we might find the answers here.” He gestured graciously to San, who hung his head. Either in shame or to hide his laughter, Seonghwa wasn’t sure. “My garden has been looking a little sparse.”

The older couple blanched. He watched the color drain from their faces as whatever assumption they had made had been fulfilled. San’s mother crossed herself and his father turned instead to muttering under his breath. Probably not something you should do in the presence of your king and ruler, but he could forgive them of that this once.

They were gracious enough hosts, making it clear that they didn’t have much and it wouldn’t be fitting of a king. But he assured them that with the travel he had done, this would be a welcome, homely place. His smile was forced as he said it.

“What can be told of the witches in your village?”

San’s mother’s brows rose. “Is there to be another inquisition?”

Another. He shut his eyes. “Potentially.” He wore his ill-fitting smile again. 

“Well.” San’s father spoke this time. Cleared his throat and glanced at his son. “There was one who lived a fair bit close to here.” The man scratched at his chin. “A spiteful one. Known to curse the children that took from her trees.”

“I hardly think taking fruit from a tree warrants a curse.”

“As does everyone else. But we should be lucky it’s only a simple curse and not something...worse.” He snuck a glance in San’s direction, who didn’t bother to meet his father’s gaze. “There was talk a village where a witch would cook children and feast upon them to stay young.”

“Hush! Don’t talk of such things in front of the king.” The old man jumped as his wife pinched him.

“It’s quite alright. This will be important to know for them inquisition.”

The wife nodded, glanced at her son. They did a lot of that. Always looking, but never  _ looking. _ Like they didn’t want to see what had become of their child even though he looked perfectly well. 

“You said ‘was’. What happened to them?”

“Oh.” The man scratched at his chin again. His beard made a sound that wasn’t far off from a crunch as he did so. “They died. Came into the village one day and just. Keeled over. We had to bury them by their tree. Didn’t want their blood tainting the land in the graveyard.”

Seonghwa nodded. That would make sense. They would see the witch as something unholy, if anything.

“Could we see the gravesite?”

The man paled again. “Yes, but. There won’t be many who would be willing to take you to it.”

“Surely, you would be so kind as to do it. Make an exception for me?” Seonghwa let his eyes widen, lips pulling down into the vestige of a pout from his youth when he could more easily get away with asking for anything he wanted. “We would only be a few minutes, and I’m sure San would be able to lead us back safely.”

“Yes, well.” The old man fretted with the frayed hem of his jacket before he stood and nodded. “Please, then. This way, Your Highness.”

There was beauty in the land that surrounded San’s village and he suspected that the cause was beneath the soil. The same witch they had buried by her tree must have filled the land with her magic. It could be the only thing that could explain what it was that he saw. Trees that blossomed and bore fruit out of season. Animals that didn’t scamper away from them as they approached. They stared the trio down until they were too far, and even then, he thought they might be following. He held his breath as they crested a hill, San’s father winded. San had tried helping once or twice, but was promptly pushed away. As if the touch of his child would fill him with the poison curse that lingered beneath his skin. San had resigned himself to the back after the third time.

San’s father carried some knowledge of the land, and he made a point to mark out places to note as they returned. The same landmarks he’d used to carry the witch back, as he’d been one of the unlucky few who had to remove her from the boundary of the village. He stopped short suddenly, removed his hat from his head once more to clutch it close to his chest.

Before them rose a great tree with leaves the color of blood and a trunk as white as snow. This, he decided, did not bode well for them. At the base of the tree was withered grass, as if everything that had been close to it had died as it grew. He glanced to San, who stared on in silent horror. His eyes watered as his father backed away, crossed himself several times.

“This is it, Your Highness.” He nodded, bowed. “I must return. There are still tasks that need to be done before the sun sets. Please — be sure that you are gone from here before then, too.”

His father moved to leave, but turned to glance at his son once more. San had stepped forward, head lolling to the side as he were put into a trance. Whatever the man saw in this, it made his steps quicken. The grass crunched as he walked, sounding his retreat. Seonghwa remained in place, watching San as he moved forward.

The other held his hand out to the tree as he continued on, hand reaching out for the trunk of the tree. He inclined his head forward, as if listening. Seonghwa approached and he was two steps away, the whispers filled his ears. They were not...malicious. They were comforting, filling him warmth as he, too, pressed up against the tree. He lifted his gaze up to the high reaching branches, blinked as the leaves swayed and danced. When he turned his attention to San — suddenly a task made most easy — the other had his head tipped back and was uttering something under his breath. Seonghwa realized he was  _ answering. _ A giggle sounded from the other and he drew back from the tree, feeling an intense wave of something he couldn’t name. Fear, disgust? It felt like he was invading on something private and personal, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from San. Because Gyu might have been right.

San might not have been cursed.

He might have been blessed.

Seonghwa’s brows rose with the epiphany, and only seemed to be struck with another. There  _ was _ a way to solve this. His stomach churned as he rested a hand on San’s shoulder. The other was taken from his stupor as Seonghwa crowded into his space with furrowed brows and a hunger on his lips. There was something there in the back of his mind that told him this would be a thing he’d need to cherish. San smiled up at him, as if realizing the same thing. As if their thoughts had lead to the same place. He pushed up slightly on his toes and pressed his lips to Seonghwa’s, waiting for the royal to deepen the kiss.

Seonghwa pressed him up against the tree, their mouths slotting together in a way that he’d always dreamed of. Hoped for when he still carried the thought that he could marry San himself and steal him away from all others. His hands found San’s waist, slim and easy to fill his hands. The other mewled into his mouth as he pressed harder into the trunk of the tree. The whispered died away, leaving them with a silence they filled with heavy breathing and moaning. 

The image of San on his knees before him came to fruition faster than he’d expected. The other dropped so suddenly he hardly had time to mourn the loss of his lips over his own. It was replaced before it could start with the delight of seeing the other work his pants open and his belt off until his pants slid down to his calves. This was a compromising situation to be sure, but Seonghwa found he really couldn’t care less. His half-hard cock rested in San’s mouth with little delay, a soft hum of content vibrating down his length. He shuddered, cock fully hardening in the warmth between San’s lips. The other’s cheek puffed out where he redirected the crown of Seonghwa’s cock to it. Tingles slid down his spine as San sucked him deep. Ran his tongue over the underside of his shaft before pulling off entirely to land a sloppy kiss at the head. Not quite like he imagined, but certainly far better.

Through the haze of his lust, he managed to get San back to his feet. The other man’s pants were soon down around his ankle, his backside to Seonghwa. A pert ass pushed out in want as San whined, pleas to be touched filling the air. Seonghwa would be foolish to deny him. But he would also be foolish to miss the way the other’s hole clenched around nothing, glistening pink. He glanced up to the other. San ducked his head.

“Perhaps...I had thought that something like this might happen.”

Seonghwa blinked. “Pardon?”

“I.” San squirmed, knees pressed together. “I wanted you to take me.”

His brain was slow, but soon caught the meaning and it was all that he could think of. He positioned the head of his cock to San’s eager hole and pushed in with little delay. His hands snaked around to San’s front, slid over his abdomen to rest just on the inside of his thighs. He brought San’s hips back to meet his thrust as he slid home, a cry of something that might have been elation leaving the man. Each thrust was responded to with great fervor. The slap of skin on skin, their breath mingling, and the quiet sounds of something Seonghwa had waited for for so long were a chorus that resounded there over the witch’s grave.

He felt his cock twitch within San as a perverse realization settled over him that they were desecrating a  _ grave _ . Regardless of it belonging to a witch, they still painted it with precum as San’s cock bobbed with each thrust. His fingers dug into the bark of the tree until it weeped sap as red as its leaves.

_ Bury him. _

Maybe he had thought or maybe it had been the tree. His hips stuttered, San pressing back to meet him greedily.  _ Bury him. _ It sounded again in his ears, a low chant that crescendoed until it rivaled San’s moans. He reached forward to stroke San to completion, the other tightening around him. He hoped, he prayed, that it would drown out the screaming voice in his head. San came, coating the roots of the tree in his seed just before Seonghwa filled him with his own. The voice quieted as Seonghwa slid out of San and the other slipped down to the ground. The king joined him there, wrapped him up in his arms as he hungrily sought for more kisses.

_ Bury him. _

The shovel had not been there when they’d been standing. Or maybe they had simply missed it. Regardless, it stuck from the ground like a statue, marking something.

_ Bury him. _

San opened his eyes, gaze glazed over as he stared at Seonghwa. A smile pulled up his lips as he leaned in to press a kiss to the corner of Seonghwa’s mouth. Then it fell away as he took in Seonghwa’s expression. The other followed his gaze to the shovel, turned back to him. It was suddenly too cold and all he had to keep him warm was San.

“ _ Bury him.” _

“Seonghwa.” San’s voice was hoarse, but he carried the tone of plea so well. Almost as sweet as when he was begging for cock. “Seonghwa.”

He looked down to San. “Yes?”

“Bury me.”

It was not San’s voice that spoke, but he saw the other’s lips move and his eyes implore as they searched his face. His brows furrowed and he drew back.

“What?”

“Bury me. Plant me. Like--like a seed.” An urgency to his voice as San pulled him back again. “Bury me.”

“San, I don’t think—”

“I think it might be the only way.” He sucked in a breath, rested his head on Seonghwa’s chest. “I feel it. In me. When you were in me. When Gyu was in me. Everything aches.” A shuddered breath left the other. “Everything aches until I feel the ground again.”

He tried not to think of the fact that San had brought up his dead husband, Seonghwa’s dead brother. How he’d mentioned them being inside of him as if they had done it at the same time. Maybe when he was younger and more sexually volatile he might have explored the thought, but a jealousy nagged at him with the reminder that he had not been first in sinking his cock into San. 

“It can’t be myself. I wouldn’t. I can’t cover myself if I’m already in the hole.”

Seonghwa shook his head, even as the voice that must have been the witch and San urged him with those two simple words. “I can’t.”

San’s lip trembled and for a moment he thought the other would cry. He didn’t. He shoved Seonghwa away, rolled over onto his side to pull up his pants and haphazardly button them back up. He winced as Seonghwa’s cum slid down his leg, wetting the pants. But he was undeterred. He moved with a purpose as he dug his hands into the earth and pulled up dirt in patches. Grass and its dead roots flew in clumps as he pulled them. He was fast, faster than Seonghwa had anticipated and the royal could only watch as San dug himself a hole. It was shallow, but soon it would be enough for him to sink into it.

“How do we know this isn’t just a part of the curse?”

“We don’t.” The words were ground out. “We don’t, but. We must try. I told Gyu the same thing and he didn’t listen. Couldn’t.”

“He wanted to kill you.”

San froze, looked at him.

“He wanted to kill you because he thought you were killing him purposefully.”

San sniffed. “I loved him.”

“So did he, but not at the end. Not the same way anymore.”

“Fitting.” He turned his attention back to his task. “I’d never loved him as more than a friend. If he’d been faster, he might have survived.”

This made him pause again, but he resumed after a short laugh. It was wet and thick and the ground was soon drinking up San’s tears where they fell. Seonghwa reached out to place a hand on his shoulder, but thought better. Not after he’d just denied San of being saved.

He dressed himself and crossed to where the shovel stood in the ground, frame rocked with tremors. His body sang with the effort of reaching out, brain telling him that this was beyond a bad idea. Beyond a decision of life and death and could very well be something so much worse. But San was adamant and so was he. San moved aside as he plunged the shovel into the shovel, made the small hole larger. It took them no more than a few minutes to get a hole large enough for San to fit in dug out with their combined efforts.

San’s chest rose and fell with his labored breathing, cheeks colored and sweat dotting his forehead from more than their graveside coitus. The hole before them was one that was deeper than its appearance. He would bury San. He would plant him like a seed.

He’d already been watered.

Seonghwa wanted to vomit at the thought.

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he heard laughter. He pushed it down. San dropped himself into the hole, lay on his back with his eyes to the red leaves of the tree above him. Then, his gaze shifted to Seonghwa. He offered a small smile and closed his eyes. He breathed out, opened them again.

“I love you, you know.”

“Did you?”

“Don’t speak of me in the past tense. I  _ do. _ ”

“Like my brother?”

He shook his head. “I wasn’t going out of my way to have your brother fuck me like I would you.” Seonghwa sputtered and his smile widened. “If you’d asked me first, I would have married you in a heartbeat.”

“San…”

“I would have let you have me in the soil in the greenhouse if you’d wanted it, too.”

Seonghwa made a noise that was probably less pained than he felt.

“You can plant me now.” San giggled, but he shivered and his smile faltered. “I’m ready.”

Seonghwa moved slow. He didn’t want this to drag on, but he didn’t want to do this at all. The dirt covered San slowly. He tried his best to keep it away from the other’s head until there was no other choice but to let it fall over the other’s eyes. He sobbed as San disappeared from view, expression serene even as he was buried alive.

The deed done, he dropped to his knees. His tears, much like San’s, were lapped up greedily by the freshly turned earth. The sun had begun to set, dipping below the horizon to bloody the skies. The tree seemed to glow in the fading light, rays hitting the leaves and trunk.

There, in the back of his mind was another voice. One he knew at once.

_ I’ll grow big and strong and come see you again. _

Maybe he smiled. Maybe it would be worth burying a friend.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
